


Across House Lines

by ephemeralblossom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Secret Relationship, ToT: Extra Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-25 18:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12537996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralblossom/pseuds/ephemeralblossom
Summary: Harry's not good with names and faces. So how does he know a random Ravenclaw? Hermione and Ron are on the case.





	Across House Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BonesOfBirdWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesOfBirdWings/gifts).



“Oliver Rivers, maybe?” Hermione asked, tapping her quill against her cheek.

Ron scoffed. “Rivers? Might as well send the first years into the Forbidden Forest.”

Harry wasn’t really listening. He was trying to do his homework, and without Hermione’s help – she was refusing to help them this week, something about developing self-reliance – it was slow going. It didn’t help that his hand was starting to cramp. 

“Padma?” 

“You heard Parvati. Padma’s far too busy for extracurriculars this term.” His imitation of Parvati’s disgruntled complaint was spot-on, and both Hermione and Harry smiled.

“Well, we have to get at least a _few_ mentors from other houses,” Hermione said, staring at her parchment disconsolately. “If it’s just a Gryffindor project, a lot of first years won’t come.”

Harry put his quill down and stretched his hand, willing away the cramp. “This is the ‘assign muggleborn first years an older pureblood mentor’ idea?” 

Ron nodded. “And I don’t care what Hermione says, we’re not asking any Slytherins.”

“They’re not _all_ bad, Ronald,” Hermione argued, but Harry could tell that she didn’t expect to win the argument. 

“I agree with Ron,” he said. “Let’s not give Malfoy or Parkinson a first-year to terrorise. They’re bad enough already.”

“All right,” Hermione said, dropping her quill. “Then who do you suggest?”

Harry shrugged, scratching an itch on his nose. “Roland Abberley would probably do it. He has a little sister who starts next year, and he’s good with kids.”

The silence that followed this helpful suggestion seemed almost corporeal. Harry looked up in alarm. “What?”

Hermione and Ron were both staring at him like he’d grown a third ear. He resisted the urge to whip out his wand and scan himself for jinxes. Perhaps Ginny had turned his hair electric green. He could imagine the field day Snape would have mocking him. 

“Roland Abberley?” Hermione said, with deceptive calmness. “And just how do you know Roland Abberley’s name, let alone that he has a sister or is good with kids?”

“Er,” Harry said. “I’ve seen him teaching Quidditch to first-year Ravenclaws? He seemed nice.”

“Uh-huh,” Ron said. He exchanged a speaking look with Hermione.

Hermione put her parchment down and leaned forward. “Harry,” she said. “You don’t even know the names of all the _Gryffindor_ students, let alone the Ravenclaws. You thought Michael Corner was a _Hufflepuff_ for at least two years. If I put the students from the other three houses in a line, I’m almost certain you couldn’t sort more than half of them properly.”

“I’m not good with names and faces,” Harry said, defensively. “I’m too busy remembering spells, and trying to keep Snape from murdering me, and oh, fighting Voldemort.”

Hermione looked smug. “Exactly. How many Ravenclaws can you name? Go.”

“Uh. Luna, Cho, Padma, Roland. Michael. Uh. Susan. No, that’s wrong.” 

“So, mate,” Ron said, with a widening grin. “How exactly do you know Roland?”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, who had a distinct air of Snape just before he swooped down on some unlucky underprepared student. (Often Harry.) He sighed. 

“Fine,” he said. “Okay.”

“I knew it!” Hermione said, gleefully. “Didn’t I tell you that Harry was acting odd lately?”

“You asked me if I’d cast Confundus on him, which isn’t exactly the same thing.”

Hermione sailed past that. “Anyway,” she said, loftily. “Tell us all about it.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Harry said, feeling embarrassed. “I saw him teaching Quidditch to first-years, like I told you, and we started talking. Then he brought me chocolate from Hogsmeade, and, well, one thing led to another.”

Ron laughed. “One thing led to another. You sound like my mum.”

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you,” Harry said. “I knew you’d make fun of me.”

“We’re not making fun of you,” Hermione said, digging her elbow into Ron’s ribs. “We’re very happy you’ve found someone. And Roland is a lovely boy. Very sweet.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Ron echoed, with a hint of the obligatory.

Harry, who to be honest had initially noticed the dimple in Roland’s cheek, the strength of his shoulders, and the way he rode a broomstick, had come to notice the sweetness as well. They’d only been sneaking up to the Astronomy Tower together for a few weeks, but Harry looked forward to those nights with great anticipation. 

Though, come to think of it…

He grinned. “Well, now that you know,” he said, rolling up his parchment and tucking his quill behind his ear, “I’m off to the library to see if Roland will help me with this essay, since Hermione won’t.”

Ron looked as if this angle of the situation had only just struck him. “I need a Ravenclaw girlfriend,” he said, mournfully. “Ask Roland if he knows anyone.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, then smiled at Harry. “Tell your boyfriend hi from us, Harry.”

Harry blushed. Boyfriend. That was a big word. 

But then he thought of the way Roland looked at him, and the warm feeling he got when he saw Roland on the staircase or in the Great Hall, and the anticipation already building at the prospect of spending the evening with him in the library. Boyfriend _was_ a big word, but maybe, just maybe, it was the right one.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell him you want to talk to him about your mentorship project.”

And then he was up from his chair and heading towards the door, not quite at full tilt but very nearly. Back by the hearth the murmur of excited conversation had started to rise, and Harry smiled as he let the door swing shut behind him.

***


End file.
